Exercising the Heart
by donutz
Summary: "It's late, and she's sleep-ruffled and wants to cuddle with him on their first night in the loft when both their names are on the lease. But it's been three years and she's still seeing a doctor and he has to know." Castle finds Beckett's medical records from her shooting. A sort-of future fic. Oneshot.


**Exercising the Heart**

This is an idea that's been running through my head for a while because the fallout from Beckett's major surgery was barely even mentioned in the show. First ever fic, not a writer, no beta, so I apologize for butchered punctuation and potential crappiness. Reviews and criticism are cool. Also, to actual writers: feel free to take the idea and make it your own. I would love to see it fleshed out from other perspectives.

* * *

He's cleaning up his own mess when he finds it.

Well, that's what she calls it. Cleaning up his own mess. He would argue that _she_ caused it. He had been carrying one of the last few boxes in one arm and juggling his keys in the other – he had just received her new one from the doorman and he wanted to take it off his keyring and give it to her - but when he walked through the door she just _came at him_. Something about her dress blues in the closet next to his tux and everything being real and she practically tackled him, so the box hit the floor and everything went everywhere on their way to his bedroom – their bedroom now – and really, it is hardly his mess.

But he had thoroughly tired her out from all his - _One more, Kate. First time in _our_ loft - has to be memorable_ – such that she's an adorable sleepy lump, so he rolled out of bed to clean up his supposed mess.

That's when he finds it.

It's one of those brown accordion files, and he about to put it back into the box with all the other file folders and papers that had spilled across the foyer when he notices a teal post-it with her hurried script stuck to the outside of it.

_Dr. Steigner - 4pm. 2/6/14._

That's… this Thursday. She has an appointment this Thursday?

His mind clicks into gear, he can't help it. Steigner isn't – he knows her general practitioner – she and Ryan had been talking about the recent changes to the NYPD health insurance policy and she had recommended that Jenny switch over to Dr. Pauling – Kate loves her, has been seeing her for years. So who's Steigner?

She's not – they sort of talked about kids after taking care of Benny last year, but they weren't – she wanted to wait until after the wedding, just enjoy married life before - he would know if she was pregnant right? She would tell him before-

He huffs and unwinds the elastic around the accordion folder. Screw it. He deserves to know. She might give him hell for going through her stuff, but they're living together now – what's mine is yours, right?

He pulls the first sheet out from the front of the file.

_Beth Israel Medical Center – Estimate of Services. _

It's a bill – a medical bill. He runs his eyes down the itemized list and all the air rushes out of his chest. It's a big medical bill. Dazed, he continues pulling out papers at random.

_St. Marks Rehabilitation Center – History and Patient Interview. New York Physical Therapy – Plan of Care. ECG REPORT 6/4/2011. Empire BlueCross BlueShield – Summary of Disbursements._

His heart drops to his stomach as he pull out more and papers from the folder. There must be a three inch thick pile of paperwork – medical bills still creased from envelopes that date months of recovery. Inpatient expenses. Insurance claims. NYPD medical leave. Prescriptions. Long term care instructions. Referrals to cardiologists, physical therapists. Emergency room bills. Follow-up appointments. Radiology bills. X-rays. CT scans. Ambulance fees.

He rocks back from his precarious squat and his tailbone hits the floor hard.

He has never seen it on paper before. All he sees of it – the whole horrible thing – is the beveled circle between her breasts and a thin line of down the side of her rib cage. Once or twice in those first few months back, he saw her wince at the pull of the scar, but even now – even when they live in the same home - she never talks about it. Never dwells on that moment of agony, months of pain, or her slow return back to Kate Beckett: Supercop.

She never told him. But the scenes unfold in his head the same way Nikki Heat has for years now.

He imagines her a month out; when she's out of the hospital, healed enough to be awake and alert, but still too sore to do much of anything. He imagines her cooped up in a bed somewhere, her father helping her sit up so she can call insurance companies and accountants and union reps to deal with the fallout, because god forbid she let anyone do it for her. He imagines her in a loose sweatshirt, hair falling out of a messy bun because it still hurts too much to keep her arms above her head for long, standing in a checkout line to buy a big brown accordion folder. He imagines her filing it away in a drawer the night before her first day back at the precinct.

"Castle?"

He's still sitting on the floor by the front door with the file in his lap when she shuffles out of their bedroom in a pair of ragged flannel pajama pants and one of his t-shirts.

"What're you doin? We can put the rest away tomorrow, just come back to bed."

It's late, and she's sleep-ruffled and wants to cuddle with him on their first night in the loft when both their names are on the lease. But it's been three years and she's still seeing a doctor and he has to know.

"Yeah. I'm coming. I just – you have an appointment this week?" His voice is apologetic as he unsticks the post-it and holds it up for her as she comes around the edge of the couch to peer down at him still sitting on the floor. She squints and plucks the note from his finger.

"I have what? Oh, shit – yeah. I almost forgot about that. Cardiologist. Thursday afternoon. I need to ask Gates for a half day." She's still sleepy and out of it as she pulls out her phone to set a reminder, and he can't help but think that he's gotten off easy. He expected a stern talking-to about cohabitation being no excuse for snooping. He tucks the accordion file under his arm as he takes the hand she offers to pull him up off the floor and into her sleepwarm body.

She runs her fingers down his arm and laces them with his, pulling him back towards the bedroom. "C'mon. Thought you were the kind of guy who wants to spoon after you ravish me."

But he stands still in the middle of their living room, halts her tugging for a moment, and she must see the concern on his face because she steps back into him and raises her eyebrows, waiting for him to speak up.

"You're seeing a cardiologist."

"Yeah. Dr. Steigner. I've been seeing him since after… everything," She waves a hand in the air vaguely, then scrunches her nose in distaste, "Josh recommended him actually. But he's good – knows what he's talking about. Might actually be the one good thing I got out of that relationship," she jokes.

Castle nods solemnly, then takes a fortifying breath. He holds up the folder of her medical records with the hand not held in hers.

"Is everything okay, Kate? Are you still – are there still problems from your shooting? Because I wasn't there for everything before, but now - I can help. Whatever it is, whatever it takes, I can help-"

"Jesus, Castle. No, no. What are you talking about?" She grabs the file from his hands and drops it back into the box of old paperwork. Free of it, she takes both his hands in hers. "Nothing's wrong, you drama queen. It's a check-up – my two-year stress test. They wire me up, I run on a treadmill for 15 minutes, and they gush about how I'm healthy as a horse. It's just the NYPD covering their ass to make sure I'm fit for duty. I'm fine. There's no problem."

He nods, but his throat is too dry and he's squeezing her hands too tight and he can tell she doesn't understand why he's so shaken. She brings one of their joined hands to her chest and drops his other hand so she can wind an arm around his waist. Her eyes are soft, but they bore into his.

"Where's this coming from, Castle?"

His eyes fall to the floor, peering off to the side at the accordion file he'd just raided. "I don't know. I saw the appointment, and some of the files and I just – I never really realized. You came back to the precinct and that was it. You were the indomitable Detective Beckett again. I guess I just never considered that it wasn't just getting stitches removed. That there was still therapy and chest x-rays and bills even when we were back together – when we were okay again." He looks back up at her. "It still hasn't ended for you."

She tilts her head with a small smile. "Well, the bills have ended. The NYPD was… very generous with my workers comp. Probably trying to avoid a lawsuit. And the medical stuff is petering out. At first the check-ups were once a month, but now it's maybe twice a year. The doctors just wanna keep an eye on things, you know? Make sure everything heals up fine long term. And it is. No complications."

He manages a smile. She's humoring him and it's a little patronizing, but he loves her for it. "Good. You need a strong heart for the things I've got planned for our honeymoon."

He expects a chuckle or an eye roll, but now she's the one bashfully gazing at the floor.

"Actually I was going to talk to Dr. Steigner about that."

"About what we're gonna do on our honeymoon? Wait – you mean it might not be okay for us to be… rigorous? Because we've already been pretty-"

Now she rolls her eyes. "No – god, Castle – not sex. Sex is _not_ a problem. Pretty sure you would've killed me by now if it was. I just wanted to ask about, well, hopefully not _during_ our honeymoon but maybe after, if you still wanted to…"

She's stuttering over words and he's not sure why she's so nervous all the sudden. She huffs and lifts her eyes to meet his. "I just want to make sure I would be okay – that everything would be okay health-wise if we want to – to start trying."

Oh. _Oh_.

She wants to talk to her doctor to make sure she's healthy enough for a pregnancy.

God he loves her.

He yanks her into him and crushes her in an embrace that he hopes says everything. But it can't – it can't and he just has to say it himself.

"I'm so glad you're okay. God, Kate, I'm just – you were shot and you could've _died_ and I'm just so grateful – so _grateful_ for you. That you're okay and we finally made it here. Yes. Ask him. Ask him if we can start trying because I want it all with you Kate Beckett."

She's warm and lithe in his arms, laughing breathlessly into his neck and it's like music. This woman who survived a bullet to the heart and fought to make herself better and then fought to make herself better _for him_ – she is everything. He loves her. He's going to marry her. He's going to have kids with her. He might be crying a little.

She murmurs into his neck, "You're gonna keep my heart rate down when I'm in labor screaming at you?"

"Yup. All the best drugs – hell, I'll get you one of those birth hypnotists. It'll be a dream."

She pushes back from his chest, still vibrant and grinning, and drags him by the shirt back towards the bedroom. "Okay, drama queen. Back to bed. You can get back to snooping through my stuff tomorrow."

"Somebody's really gunning for some spooning."

"What I'm gunning for is some sleep. You wore me out."

He waggles his eyebrows. "Consider it honeymoon endurance training."

The last thing he sees before she disappears through the bedroom doorway is her suggestive smirk. "Oh, I think you'll find that I'm very well prepared, Mr. Castle."

"I can't wait."

He really can't.


End file.
